


Lamb To The Slaughter

by sahrmael



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: "hey it's ya fren the starscourge!", Angst, Gen, Trust Issues, and what bahamut tells him after, ardyn should have had more screentime, bahamut's a creep, given what somnus says to him during their fight, i kinda feel like ardyn was cheated, i stan ardyn so, post-episode ardyn, pre-ffxv
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:48:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27288916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sahrmael/pseuds/sahrmael
Summary: While far from his idea of perfect revenge, Adagium is determined that the Last Son of Lucis will be made to suffer for the sins of his traitorous forefather. (Post-Episode Ardyn. Pre-FFXV.)
Relationships: Ardyn Izunia & Somnus Lucis Caelum, Verstael Besithia & Ardyn Izunia
Kudos: 4





	Lamb To The Slaughter

The burnt and frayed edges of his coat were more than enough to indicate that – contrary to desire – the whole ordeal within the Crown City had _not_ been but a passing daydream.

_What a bloody shame._

His initial return to consciousness had been a rather wretched one, his first and only sight the innards of that very same prison where Somnus had bound him, forgotten and erased while a nation flourished. And it had been there, upon Angelgard, that Verstael had found him once again.

With the Wall compromised and the Lucians at last in dire straits, the conversation – rather _monologue_ , for Ardyn had done precious little to interject – managed on the journey back to Niflheim had been carried in its entirety by the giddy researcher, musing aloud as to the possibilities awaiting their army and his experiments.

Ardyn, more than a touch put out with the goings-on at the Citadel, had dismissed the other man entirely, his tired mind fraught with far more pressing matters.

In the days since their return, silence has proven itself an eerie companion, the chancellor's elected time of self-isolation perhaps as much a curse as the repetition of recent memory upon which he dwells.

It angers Ardyn that the gods had sought to placate him with but the _promise_ of revenge: the slaying of a son not yet born unto Lucis. They are not to be trusted, the Astrals nor the Lucians, and he is perhaps all the more enraged by the knowledge that he has been _forced_ into this.

Had the gods – no, had _Bahamut_ ever truly intended for him to ascend the throne, or had he been played for a fool from the beginning? What part had Aera in their treachery, in that of his fool brother's eagerness to betray him, if any at all?

He finds little point in dwelling on it further, the Draconian having made as much glaringly clear. His fate, and that of all Eos, it seems, has been preordained. A path of unerring uncertainty from which he cannot so much as choose to deviate.

The god's little vision had emphasized as much.

His desires, _his choices_ , were of no consequence to the Astrals.

Ardyn swallows around the bitter taste in his mouth, ignoring the chime of the device left to linger unattended in the other room. He's grown accustomed to much in this world, but never has he been particularly fond of the manner in which the present day elects to communicate: Instantaneously, ad infinitum. Verstael and his incessant nagging can rot for all he cares, as the man's impossible schedule is one thing that the Accursed will _not_ be subject to.

His attention turns toward the clarity of yet another evening high above the streets of Gralea, flickering lights mocking him in much the same way as the rest of this world has. He imagines Somnus lingering atop the Citadel even now, carefree and proud of the nation of Lucid as if he's somehow earned the right to preen.

Were it but that the chancellor could inflict upon Somnus hellish retribution. But time, regrettably, does not flow backwards, and so it is that he must slake his lust for vengeance with the blood of the unborn son. The last in the line of Lucis laid bare upon the altar to suffer the consequences of the Founder King himself. A lamb, as it were, raised to the slaughter.

Ardyn finds but a modicum of comfort in that, certain of the anguish such an end will have upon his brother's seemingly immortal spirit. He _clings_ to that feeling, snapping the curtain closed on a reflection he no longer recognizes, sinking into the familiar grasp of the armchair that conforms to his figure.

For now, at least, he will be patient, and while away the years spinning a myriad of tumultuous plots for the yet unnamed end of Somnus' lineage. When the time comes, the Last Son of Lucis _will suffer,_ and Ardyn will joyously revel in it.

For now, wakefulness is waning, and Adagium teeters on the edge between, at last succumbing to restful sleep for the first time in two thousand years.


End file.
